


Once More, With Feeling

by verhalen



Series: Seeds of Fire [13]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), Flameborn Omegaverse, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha Nerdanel, Alternate Universe, Crickets the Moon, Dying whale noises, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Fëanor Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, No Smut, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Fëanor, Omega Verse, One Shot, Punched In The Feels, Sad, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Fëanor and Nerdanel are having relationship issues and in an attempt to reconcile they go on vacation to Formenos. This goes a bit differently than expected.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Series: Seeds of Fire [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1418458
Comments: 18
Kudos: 21





	Once More, With Feeling

"Nel!"  
  
Fëanor was both surprised and relieved that Nerdanel was awake at this hour, sitting outside in the garden, on a bench. He made a beeline for her and pulled her into his arms. She patted him, and he kissed the top of her head, rubbing his nose in her hair. When she looked up she smiled, but the smile did not meet her eyes.  
  
"I see you finally dragged yourself out of your forge," Nerdanel said.  
  
Fëanor swallowed hard. He'd been in the forge the last few days... but he'd escaped to the forge in the first place because he felt like Nerdanel didn't want him around. It was getting to the point where it felt like they were married in name only, and Fëanor was tired of trying to reach out to Nerdanel only to be rebuffed in some way, ice meeting his fire.  
  
And yet, he still loved her. He still cared for her. He hadn't given up trying just yet.  
  
"You're always welcome to visit me there," Fëanor said; he'd reminded her of this enough times that he had to stop himself from adding "as you know". Which always made him think of Fingolfin. When Fingolfin visited, he was more than happy to spend time with him in the forge, watching him work. Sometimes assisting him. Sometimes, Fingolfin and Finarfin had made things of their own, and Fëanor was so proud of them when they did, as proud as when his own sons made things.  
  
He missed his brothers. But he missed Nerdanel, too. And the sting of remembering Fingolfin visiting him in the forge - longing for a visit from Fingolfin now, but not wanting to be needy - led to the sting of remembering when he and Nerdanel were newly in love, and used to work together in that forge; she sculpted and made pottery, while Fëanor smithed and fashioned jewels.  
  
They hadn't worked together in a very long time. There was a project they had been doing together which had been sitting unfinished for quite awhile now - a statue set with jewels, bearing a sword and shield. It was a gift for Fingolfin's daughter Aredhel, started when she was a small elleth and had heard too many stories about the horrors that beset the Quendi before they came to Valinor to be safe; now Aredhel was a young woman and learning to fight from the best, and could hold her own sparring even against Maedhros. Fëanor had a feeling the statue would never be finished. Every time he'd asked Nerdanel about it, Nerdanel had said he was "nagging" her, and finally he just stopped asking. He didn't like to leave projects abandoned.  
  
He himself felt abandoned.  
  
"You should see my latest project," Fëanor said, trying to engage her attention in some way. "I am making a brooch for Galadriel." His niece didn't like him, especially not after taking a lock of her hair for the Silmarils, but he still tried to show kindness to her, because she was family; he was trying to make up for "the hair incident" somehow.  
  
"I don't really have the energy," Nerdanel said.  
  
And yet, when they went in the manse together, a few of the handmaidens were up, taking a break for tea, and working on embroidery projects. Nerdanel went around the circle to admire each piece of work and offer her compliments.  
  
 _You have the energy to look at that, but not take a brief look at what I'm working on now?_ Fëanor felt slighted.  
  
Again.  
  
But then Nerdanel was leading him off to their bedchambers. "You probably have not slept in days," she observed. "You should get to bed." She wrinkled her nose. "Wash off the smell of the forge first."  
  
Fëanor _liked_ the smell of smoke, but he did as she asked anyway, taking a bath first. He attempted a half-humorous, half-sexy little dance as he got out of his clothes by the tub, but Nerdanel wasn't paying attention, and when Fëanor got in the tub, he tried not to cry.  
  
That feeling of loneliness and longing intensified as he climbed into bed beside her, and reached out for her, just to cuddle, and she rolled away. Fëanor sighed. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he couldn't. The tension in him - the hurt building up as tension - was too much, and the longer he lay there, feeling lonely and alone and _cold_ , the worse it got. Finally he sat up. He hadn't meant to wake Nerdanel, but she still woke with a "hm?"  
  
"I can't sleep," Fëanor said.  
  
"Obsessing over your project? Maybe you should have some hot tea to relax. And you should have taken a longer bath. I can still smell the forge on you."  
  
Fëanor had done his best to wash up, and he wondered if what Nerdanel was smelling was just his Omega scent, which had never been a problem before now... but maybe it offended her now the way Finwë's Alpha scent was offensive to him. The implications of that bothered Fëanor.  
  
"It's not that," Fëanor said. He decided to just be honest, feeling like he didn't have much else to lose. "We never spend time together anymore. We never have anything to say to each other anymore. We never make love anymore. I feel like the magic between us is gone, and it hurts. I still love you."  
  
Nerdanel let out a sharp exhale that sounded more like exasperation than sympathy. "It's late. We both need to get some sleep -"  
  
"How can I sleep, when I'm laying in the bed of someone who doesn't want me there?" Fëanor looked over at her; she was watching him now, her expression neutral. That upset Fëanor even more than if she had been angry with him for bringing it up. At least anger would have been feeling _something_. Ice now seemed like an incorrect analogy for Nerdanel's response, because ice moved in water, ice could melt. Nerdanel was more like the stone she worked with.  
  
"I never said that I don't want you there, Fëanor -"  
  
"You don't say it. But you act like it. Actions speak louder than words."  
  
Nerdanel exhaled again. She sat up. "What exactly do you want from me?"  
  
"I want us to try. Try to fix whatever it is that went wrong. Try to... recapture some of that... feeling that used to be there." Fëanor moved closer to her, and his hand instinctively brushed a stray lock of her hair. Nerdanel did not move away from his touch, nor did she touch him in return. "Please, Nel." Fëanor thought for a moment, considering. "Maybe if we go on holiday together -"  
  
"To where? Alqualondë?"  
  
The word sounded bitter in Nerdanel's mouth. She had always outwardly said that she was fine with Fëanor's arrangement with his brothers, and she wasn't exclusive to Fëanor either. But ever since the Silmarils were cast, the distance between them had been even more sharp and obvious, as if Nerdanel felt slighted that Fëanor's greatest work was inspired by his brother-lovers and not his wife. It had always been a suspicion, but now...  
  
"No, not Alqualondë." Though Fëanor was aching to see Finarfin again - Finarfin's exuberance at seeing him, enthusiasm for Fëanor's work, and his passion between the sheets were a balm that his soul desperately needed. He wanted to breathe in Finarfin's Alpha scent, rest in those strong arms... But he needed to give Nerdanel assurance that he still loved her, too, and it felt unfair to spend a holiday meant to focus on their relationship, at the estate of one of his brothers. "Formenos. Just me and you. The boys can look after themselves." Fëanor hoped the boys didn't burn the place down while they were gone.  
  
Nerdanel gave him an incredulous look, but then she pursed her lips and nodded. "Very well. We can go to Formenos. How soon did you want to leave?"  
  
"As soon as possible." The sooner they got to the work of fixing things between them, the better off they would be. "Even tomorrow, if we could."  
  
Nerdanel sighed, but then she nodded again. "Tomorrow, then."  
  
  
  
_  
  
  
"Fëanor."  
  
Nerdanel's voice cut into Fëanor's half-nap. He groggily blinked and looked up at her. She held out a flask and he accepted; it was water. Then he groaned as his stomach lurched again. "Are we there yet?" Fëanor asked.  
  
"Not yet. We have entered the forest but there are still more hours to go yet."  
  
Fëanor nodded and looked out the side of the covered wagon, which had a screen for viewing. As the people got fewer and farther between and the forest got wilder, the air was fresher, and Fëanor usually enjoyed breathing in the deep, pure air, watching the beauty of the landscape - so many trees. But now every motion of the carriage was making him ill, and the air wasn't helping.  
  
"I bet you have not eaten in days, busying yourself in the forge," Nerdanel scolded. She thumped a basket of food at her feet. "You should eat something."  
  
"I'm not -"  
  
Now Nerdanel was pushing bread at him. "Eat."  
  
Everything tasted bad, even food that he liked. Fëanor knew that he was having an attack of nerves; things had been so _tense_ between he and Nerdanel, and though the holiday in Formenos was meant to address that, right now being in the carriage with her felt like it was making things worse rather than better, like every movement he made, every breath he took was offending her. But this also felt above and beyond any anxiety he'd normally experienced, and he'd felt plenty of it the last while. He wondered if maybe he was having anxiety about being away from the forge, away from his project, the brooch he was working on for his ungrateful niece. But even that didn't account for why he was feeling like this.  
  
When they arrived at Formenos it was night, and Fëanor wanted to just change and go to bed. But there was Nerdanel, pushing him in the direction of the tub. "You _still_ stink like the forge," she said. "If anything, it smells even stronger now."  
  
Fëanor soaked in the tub for a long time, using some of the special lavender soap he knew Nerdanel liked. And when he got out of the tub, he decided that instead of just reaching for whatever bedclothes were clean, he went with his fanciest set - black silk and lace, piped with red roses. He took time braiding his hair, wanting to be pretty for her.  
  
Nerdanel was already curled up, looking asleep or well on her way there, when he climbed into bed. He got beside her, his chest to her back, snuggling like two spoons in a drawer. His arms wrapped around her and she put a hand on his. That simple gesture was reassuring, and the tension began to drain from him - not all of it, but some. Enough that his body responded to the proximity of hers. He nuzzled her neck and she made a noise.  
  
"Not tonight," she said. "I don't have the energy."  
  
That was fair enough - they'd had a long journey, after all.  
  
But then that was the case the next few nights. They just cuddled in bed, because Nerdanel didn't have the energy, even though she did little other than read and sit in the garden. Fëanor tried to be understanding, and he didn't keep pushing it - he would ask once, and when she said no, he would accept that answer and leave it alone. Indeed, he tried to accept it in his heart as well. _She doesn't owe you sex._  
  
And yet the thought came to him unbidden. _I doubt she would be saying she has no energy if it were that bard beside her... what's his name, Laurëlótë? Or that hunter, Ehtëkáno._  
  
He had been fine with her having other lovers, just as he had his own. But he had still tried to make time for her, and she had been increasingly absent, with them.  
  
Fëanor felt like he was fighting a losing battle, but he didn't know how to give up.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The sick feeling intensified as the days wore on. What Fëanor had initially thought was travel-sickness brought on by nerves, could no longer be explained as such.  
  
Then his answer came when he woke up alone in a puddle of his own sweat... a pool of his own slick, dripping. Feeling like his skin was on fire... rock hard, his body screaming for touch.  
  
That had been why he hadn't felt well - his body had been going into pre-heat. Now his heat was here.  
  
Fëanor was afraid to change and leave the room. He knew that his "stink of the forge" that Nerdanel had complained of, was his Omega scent getting stronger with his heat approaching, and if it was offensive to her, he imagined the smell of his full heat would be even moreso. He was not only afraid of rejection, but he worried that if he came out like this, she would feel like he was trying to pressure her into sex. And he only wanted, when he was wanted. He not only would not force himself on anyone, but he didn't want sex out of pity or obligation. Only passion.  
  
He heard Nerdanel's footsteps down the hall before he could get out of bed and decide what to do, and he froze, fearing the worst. Nerdanel walked in and called out, "Fëanor? It's late in the day and I was worried -" She stopped and sniffed. "Oh, Eru."  
  
"I'm sorry." As soon as the words were out of Fëanor's mouth he hated it, a blow to his pride. He couldn't help what he was, and he had refused to be ashamed of it, much as his father wanted him to be. But here, now...  
  
Their eyes met, and Fëanor swallowed hard. He expected her to walk out, he expected her to take the carriage and just leave, stranding him at Formenos.  
  
But instead she came rushing towards him like a storm, eyes wild. Her hand was in his hair, dragging him up into a kiss.  
  
_  
  
  
Crickets, the moon.  
The next day...  
  
_  
  
  
They lay there the next morning, spent and exhausted. Fëanor's head was spinning, and he couldn't stop smiling. Nerdanel was smiling too; she was still lovely to him after all these years, and he reached to stroke her face, her hair, looking into her eyes, feeling like all was right with the world. Almost.  
  
Then Nerdanel's smile faded to a frown. _Oh shit, not again,_ Fëanor thought to himself, dreading what came next, wondering if this had been their last time and she was about to tell him it was over.  
  
Instead Nerdanel glanced over at the table next to their bed. "Fëanor, where are the herbs you take to prevent pregnancy?"  
  
"Er. I think they're packed in one of my chests." Fëanor sighed. "I can get up and look, but I'm comfortable here and don't want to move." He chuckled. "I don't think I can move."  
  
"Well, I can look for them -"  
  
But before she could get up, before the warm coziness of her could evaporate to an empty space in the bed, Fëanor found himself reaching out, gently. And the words he spoke next were not ones he was expecting to say - indeed, he wasn't expecting this situation to happen at all. "I'd like to skip the herbs, Nel. I..." He sighed. "It's been quite some time now since Curufin was small. I'd like another baby." Their eyes met. "Maybe a baby would... help. Bring us closer together again."  
  
"You had five, and look where we are."  
  
"Do you not remember when Nelya was born?" Those memories were forever cast in Fëanor's mind, like they had been etched in gold. "Just one more, Nel. Please."  
  
There was a moment when Fëanor thought she would get up from the bed and retrieve the bag of herbs, but then she lay back down and pulled him close, stroking his hair. "Just one more, then." She kissed the top of his head.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
  
_  
  
  
The twins were born with a full head of auburn hair, like their ana.  
  
No one was more surprised than Fëanor that the birth was twins - and no one was more delighted.  
  
Nerdanel was less delighted.  
  
"You look displeased," Fëanor said.  
  
"You said one more," Nerdanel said. "This is not one."  
  
 _As if I had any control over that._ Fëanor's arms tightened around the newborn babies, feeling strangely defensive of them. "I also said I thought a baby might help continue to fix things between us. Now we have two. Twice the babies, double the joy?"  
  
Nerdanel gave him a look.  
  
"I will take care of them, if you are worried about double the work," Fëanor said, and silently added _like I did most of the looking after of the last five children_. Not that he'd minded - he'd in fact missed wearing a baby sling into the forge, missed the shoulder rides, and already his mind was racing with what it would be like to show the wonders of the world to two pairs of eyes rather than just one. And he knew that it was already enough for Nerdanel to say the children were hers, when most of them were not, only Maedhros, but even so, he felt she could have been a little more invested.  
  
"It's not even that," Nerdanel said.  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
But she wouldn't answer him.  
  
They had discussed names throughout Fëanor's pregnancy, but it had been under the assumption it would be a single baby. All of those names seemed wrong now. Nerdanel came back in the evening with a meal for Fëanor, who was famished after the ordeal of giving birth to twins, and now she took a better look at the babies - her babies. She began to rock the little crib next to the birthing-bed, studying them.  
  
"Ambarussa," she said.  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Fëanor glared. "You can't name them both Ambarussa!"  
  
"You said just one more," Nerdanel said. "Naming is hard. And before you argue with me, you name all of your sons -raurë."  
  
Fëanor doubled down. What was funny when his brothers joked about it felt less funny from Nerdanel, like she was trying to wound him... like she was trying to insult him. "You can't name them both Ambarussa," Fëanor insisted. "Pick a different name."  
  
"You first. Maybe I'll be inspired."  
  
Fëanor thought for a moment. Really, he needed more time than this, but he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "Pityaraurë. And Teluraurë." Pityo was born a few minutes before Telvo.  
  
"Little One and Last."  
  
Fëanor nodded. "I did say just one more, so Teluraurë will be our last child."  
  
"That's not very creative."  
  
"Can you do better, my wife?" _At least they have two different names._  
  
Nerdanel studied them again. She reached out to touch Pityo's face and she said, "Umbarto."  
  
 _The Fated._ That felt even more like a rebuff, like Nerdanel making a statement that this had somehow ended their relationship rather than fixed it, but without saying so directly. "That is ominous," Fëanor said.  
  
"Are we all not fated somehow, Fëanáro?"  
  
Fëanor didn't answer that. "Ambarto," Fëanor said. _Upwards-exalted._  
  
"This one will be Ambarussa, then," Nerdanel said, touching Telvo.  
  
Fëanor didn't like that, it felt like a cast-off name now, with her originally wanting both of them to share it, but he was too tired to argue with her. He just nodded.  
  
"Your food will get cold," Nerdanel said, and got up, leaving the room.  
  
Fëanor had been hungry, but he wasn't now. Each time he'd given birth previously, he'd had a nest. He'd had cuddles and pets and reassurances that he hadn't died, and his partners were glad he was still alive. There was none of this now, only cries of babies who were hungrier than he was. He supposed they were glad he was alive, but it wasn't the same thing - they needed him to survive.  
  
Fëanor desperately missed his brothers, wishing they were here with him now. And as he watched Nerdanel fade from sight, heard her footsteps down the hall, he thought to himself, _This is_ exactly _why I only made three Silmarils and not four._  
  
As he gave his newborn babies suck and they stopped crying, Fëanor himself began to cry... alone, abandoned and ashamed.

**Author's Note:**

> "Ana" is the term used in this verse for "Alpha parent", regardless of gender.
> 
> -raurë is what Fëanor names his sons in this verse instead of -finwë, after RAWR, an OC who is the Alpha mate of Mahtan.
> 
> "Laurëlótë" means "Golden Flower". "Ehtëkáno" means "Spear Ruler" or "Spear Commander".
> 
> "Crickets. The moon. The next day..." is an in-joke between myself, [Detergent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/detergent/pseuds/detergent), and our friends group, meaning sex happened, which makes fun of the Shogun miniseries glossing over sex with the sound of crickets and a shot of the moon.


End file.
